Jitimai
by Sulkie Wolfen
Summary: Nala knows perfectly well Scar's passion for the ancient tradition that would technically rid her of life, but he spared her... and she never knew why, until now. READ THE REWRITE PLEASE THANKS.


**JITIMAI**

FOREIGN REFERENCES:

wildebeest salad - "salad" made from wildebeest fat and wildflowers of Africa; a common appetizer in the world of lions

ke (Swahili: female or feminine) - a name given to a female who has not yet reached adolescence

jana (Swahili: young person) - a young cub

dume (Swahili: male) - a name given to a male who has not yet reached adolescence

mauko'ed (derived - Swahili: mauko, meaning dead) - a name for a freshly dead one

"But out of the darkness of this tragedy, we shall rise to greet the dawning of a new era, in which lion and hyena come together -- in a great, and glorious future!" And the scrawny, dark, tyrant lion; along with his thousands of hyena minions, let out resounding cackles.

This may seem a bit sudden to you. You begin reading a story, and all of a sudden, a threat comes from one I have titled a tyrant. But let me tell you, it was more sudden and shocking to us.

Our rulers -- but more importantly, our _friends _-- had become of the dead, only hours before. The entire pride shone eyes tear-stained and glistening with sorrow and terror.

The late King Mufasa had been a great and brilliant lion. Clever, warm, compassionate, and almost terrifying, all mixed in a jumble like a wildebeest salad. His pelt had been a loud shade of golden yellow, with a red-brown mane and orbs of deep brown.

King Mufasa and Queen Sarabi also had a son. They called him Simba, and he was of a slightly more brown color than Mufasa. He had his mother Sarabi's reddish eyes, but unlike Sarabi's sorrow-filled orbs, they glistened with the joy and love for adventure that Simba was so known for.

Simba had been my best friend. But a great herd of monster wildebeests had stampeded into the gorge in which Simba and Mufasa were spending time together. Mufasa's younger brother Scar had tried, he said, to save them. But no matter his attempt, the King and his Prince had perished in the great stampede.

How could we have been looked down upon with the greedy and resentful eyes of the late Ahadi and been given such misfortune? Could we really be doomed to face such sorrow?

After this horrid death, we were unwillingly forced to live under the rule of Scar. The whole of the pride knew the loss had been a tragic accident. And yet we were so insanely unwilling to forgive Scar for letting us lose them.

Beside this, Scar frightened and terrified every member of the pride. He always kept his claws halfway extended, and his pale green eyes were nearly pupiless with the obvious fury of his past. Scar's mane was unlike other lion manes. Unlike the late King Mufasa's, Scar had a mane of flat black. Also, needless to say he was weak. I could estimate that he was at least seventy pounds underweight, with almost no muscular capability.

His pelt was red-orange. I'd never seen lions like that before. It sort of scared me. And he had a cold voice. He didn't sound like the rest of us lions; -- although he did sound a bit like Zazu the majordomo bird -- simple, playful and fun, but rather cold, out-there perhaps, and maybe even crazy.

But what chilled us all the most was the sake of his title. For a long, thin mark was cut almost neatly across his left eye. A gash; mark; ... a scar.

Needless to say, I wanted Simba and Mufasa back. I was only a few weeks shy of my thirteenth birthday, so young and so helpless, and my best friend and my King had perished. Such terror had come to me in my very early life.

I knew Scar well enough, so I thought. From when I was very young, he used to bring me close to him. Sometimes he would bathe me, or even play with me. But usually he just sat there next to me. Looking at me, it seemed, but his eyes seemed so far away. Like he was in another world. Countless was the amount of times he told me how I looked like my mother. But always it was told, and immediately after he would look away. As though he were scolding himself for telling me so.

Sometimes, Scar would saunter toward my mother, timid at first, but after Mom's warm welcome he became more courageous. "Sarafina" he would call, lovingly.

It was almost dazzling how he said my mother's name. It was so unlike every other word he said. Whenever he opened his rather large mouth to say anything else, his voice was drawn out and sometimes even rude. But when he spoke to Sarafina, or Figure as he lovingly called her, his voice was cheerful and almost dainty.

And he would come up to my mother, and ask if he could take me away. Take me with him, just for a couple of hours. And I loved it when he did that. That way, I could play with his daughter Kipusa. We could play, and do our own thing. It so saddened me, those days, that Kipusa and I were in the same boat. Neither of us had a father. Well, Kipusa had one, but he didn't act like one. He preferred ... me.

But sometimes, he wanted to do something different. Scar would race me to the fields of the Pridelands. Most grown lions will run slowly so their cubs can beat them to the finish line. No, Scar was competitive. I liked it. It meant I was really improving. I never wanted to race with Mom, and she so often asked me, "Why do you only ever race with Scar?"

My answer would always simply be, "I just don't want to, okay?"

Because Mom would race like every other adult races with their child. And I wanted Scar.

When we would reach the fields, usually I would dive to the ground, rolling upon my backside. Scar often would lay beside me, not doing much of anything, just there.

But there he was; apparently the same lion that did such wonderful things on my behalf. There was the lion I had grown to trust -- almost love. On the promontory Pride Rock, he stood. Commanding, triumphant, tyranny stood on that promontory. His cackle was wicked, almost villainous.

Oh, God, why did I ever grow to trust such a horrible, horrible lion? So I crouched between my mother's eyes, grief and terror my main components. Tears flew down my once gleeful features. But what no one understood was that I wasn't just crying because Simba and Mufasa were gone.

I was also crying because of what I knew would become of me -- a cub-layer for King Scar. Because a friend of mine had, in those few seconds, turned the fear and sorrow of his past to hate and villainy. And now the pain, his and mine, would be evermore great and powerful.

After a good five minutes of chilling cackling from our new ruler and his fearful minions -- why did he hire them anyway? -- Scar's speech went on.

"Now, I believe it is custom," He continued with a smirk, "To dispose of all cubs born under the former King's rule, is it not?"

I heard my mother whisper, "No, God, don't let him take my Nala away!"

Fear came flooding toward me. No, my dear friend wasn't going to use me -- he was going to kill me! How could he? We meant so much to each other! And what of Kipusa? How could any lion -- even so forlorn as he -- kill his own daughter? Oh, please, Scar -- you can't!

But Scar was through talking. His smirk now stretching from ear to ear, he climbed from the throne toward the circle of lionesses gathered at its base. Once upon a time, this circle was filled with cheer. Now, the ch became an f and the second e became an a.

And King Scar with his devilish ways came closer to us all... closer, closer, 8 steps, 7, 6... "No, please," My mother said at a whisper, "God, take me with her. Kill me -- leave my daughter be!" Hearing her words made my tear-stained eyes bleed their salty, transparent liquid once more.

5, 4, 3 -- he was in the middle of the circle now, his eyes on a lioness only a few steps away from my mother. A darker colored cub sat, scared to death, between her paws. She and her mother both trembled, nearly twice as hard as even myself. I was going to see and feel bloody murder!

2, 1, and he snarled and took a slash at Lady Singa's young one. I hadn't know Kai, the newly murdered ke, and yet it felt like someone took an arrow and pierced my brain and heart. So horrid it was, but Kai was near death. "Please," Singa pleaded, "Don't take my baby Kai away!" Her pleas were useless, as Scar had no mercy for the shallow-breath'd cub at his feet.

"You monster!" Sarabi cursed, from several yards away. "How could you! King Mufasa did away with that law -- why on earth would you want to reinforce it?"

Scar -- or the lion who once was Scar -- only cackled devilishly. He took Kai's neck in his teeth, swaying her about like a jana's chew-toy. Only the sight was so much more sickening than Kai's first chew toys. And he dropped the mauko'ed on the ground, where she flopped, motionless.

I knew I was next, after he assassinated a young and defenseless dume. "No, Scar, you can't," My mother begged. "After all we meant to each other -- you devil man!" She was sobbing now, screeching as Scar took me by the scruff of my neck.

I trembled with fear unlike anything I'd ever felt. He was really going to kill me, my mother and I were really going to see my own murder. Scar's breath beat against my back, in a pattern that sounded almost like, "Say your prayers, Princess."

Tears poured from my eyes once more. I thought of everything that ever mattered to me. Of my mother. Of the father I wished I could have known. Of Simba. And of... the Scar I used to know and adore. I thought, so fearfully, of what would become of the pride under his rule. And before I could think of anything else, he struck.

I panted. Hard. My vision continually went in and out of focus, and all I could hear was my own breath, pelting from my weak and helpless body. All I could feel was the intense pain. I tried to put a paw to my face, to soothe the intensity and hurting of my nose and eye, but found soon that it would take far more energy than I needed. In my fear and pain, I wasn't far from death. No matter what I did, the pain would be gone soon, along with everything else. I wanted to think about my past, to thank my gracious life, but it seemed so much easier to simply put everything to a stop. It would be so easy to give up, and fall into eternal sleep. And so, I stopped trying to breathe. Stopped trying to soothe my flaring pain. Stopped thinking. So prepared was I for the eternal nap of death, and I felt glorious sleep come upon me...

... What had happened? I was cold. I was miserable. I didn't remember anything that had happened in so long...

Oh yeah. I played with Simba, we got in trouble with some hyenas. I was kind of scared of what Mufasa would do to him, if he'd get really mad or even ground him. The next day, I didn't see him. Oh yeah, he went to the gorge with Mufasa and his uncle. ... Scar...

My right eye... ow. But I fluttered my eyes open, and I was relieved that could see equally well through both. I darted my good eye, several notches too scared of the pain to move the other and thus clenching it shut, and spotted my mother sobbing. She sat on the opposite side of our nook of the den, with her head in her paws. Sniffling noises and trembling sighs could be heard from her.

"... Mom?" I suggested.

She slowly removed her face from the safety of her arms. "Nala?" She said, her voice stuffy from her former sobs.

"Are you okay?" I asked her.

She started crying all over again. "Oh, thank god he spared you!" My mother strode toward me, immediately fanning me over with a pink carpet, sweeping from her maw. "I was so afraid I'd lose you."

"Yeah Mom," I said, attempting a feeble chuckle. "I -- thanks." Before I could make another move of affection toward her, I groaned in irritation, nearly slapping the paw to my eye. What _was _this horrible pain?

While I clenched my throbbing eye, my mother took me in her jaws. Before I knew I had done it, I screamed insanely and wriggled free, landing heavily on my side, and ran for the exit. Panting hard, I fled from the cave, wanting to get as far away from my sudden fear as possible.

I was weak, and only on three legs, as I was constantly lifting the fourth, in habit to attempt to place it by my eye. So when I reached the waterhole, I fell by the tall grass, ducking my head between my paws, over my face... over my sore orb. There, I began to cry; in sorrow, in fear, and in pain. For now, I remembered everything.

It wasn't long before my mother stood over me. "Nala?" She asked, in the same tone as had come her voice less than half an hour before. "My goodness, it's dark -- are you all right?"

"I guess so," Said a small voice. It might have been me -- at age three and a half.

I raised my head. Mom came to sit beside me, bringing me closer with a paw. I dug my face into her chest. "I'm sorry," I said.

"No, you had every reason to fear," She assured me.

"It's just -- my eye was, all of a sudden, really bad, and you showed sympathy on me, and then --"

"I know," She said, "And it's fine."

I let myself free of her. "How can you say that?" I asked, at a loud whisper. "Nothing is fine, right now, Mother!"

My mother chuckled half-heartedly, more in sympathy than in happiness. Or, not really in happiness at all. It seemed a little out-of-the-blue to me at the time, but she said, "So, do you have a headache yet?"

I smiled in apprehension. "No," I lied.

I hadn't, until she mentioned that. And this wasn't the common pain you get when you stay up too late watching the dirt performers, or when you're sick or anything like that. This was major. I groaned, once again putting a paw to my face, and that's the last I remember of that night.

All I could do was sleep through it. It was the only way I could attempt to cease my seemingly everlasting pain. I would toss and turn, dream and dawdle. Sweat and swoon, only to wake up finding everything was as usual. Except more miserable than ever before. In a way, I preferred living inside this insane headache than living the outside world. Under Scar's rule, I was fearful to see anything besides my mother, feel any pain besides me petty strains of horror.

It was perhaps two weeks before I woke to stay. Needless to say, my horrific pain had not vanished -- although, I was tired of living inside it. I tried to convince myself that it was all in my head. Which actually had some basis in truth. Literally. Thusly, it faded quicker with my urgency to rid myself of it.

Perhaps several days after my final wake up call, I stood on a rock. This rock held atop it the once gorgeous promontory of Pride Rock. Now, Pride Rock haunted all our dreams. Every dream was accented with a faded cackle coming from within the rock -- the den in which Scar made his throne room.

"My late son would be twelve today," Came a voice, "Happy Birthday, Simba." A sigh came from a similar location.

And I knew, from her sorrowful words, the speaker was Sarabi. "I miss him," I said, feebly.

Another sigh. "So do I, Nala. And Mufasa. And the land."

"What do you mean? We're still here!" I protested, at her last remark.

"Nala, look at the land now." She was right, and I knew it.

The flowers were dying, the leaves were falling and dying, the animals were dying. The air was becoming more and more arid and hot. So that the most moisture came from our sweating half-corpses -- bodies that may as well be dead.

"Everything is dying. The sorrow has spread beyond the followers of the king, it's spread to the land."

"What about King Scar?" I asked, realizing her words did not include him. "Isn't he sad too?"

"I don't know anything about King Scar," Made Sarabi's reply. "But I don't think he has the heart to be sad."

"_CAN'T YOU FEEL MY SORROW NOW_?" I sang in a tune that had just come to my mind. "_UNDER THE RULE OF SCAR? THE HORROR LIES WITHIN MY HEART TONIGHT, WHY MUST YOU BE SO FAR_?"

A star could be seen, twinkling in the light of the moon. Sarabi must have understood my point, because she too began singing, in memory of Simba and Mufasa. "_CAN'T YOU FEEL MY SORROW NOW_?" But it sounded so much prettier when she sang it. "_MUST YOU BE SO SHY? YOU LEFT ME HERE, WITHOUT ANY OTHER LIGHT, WITHOUT SAYING 'GOOD-BYE...' _"

"_AND IF YOU DON'T FEEL SORROW NOW_," I began again, "_IN THE WAY I DO... I FEEL IT RIGHT TO SADLY ASK MYSELF: 'WAS YOUR LIGHT REALLY TRUE?' "_ I concluded with a gasp of horror.

My mother knew I appealed to Scar. And thusly, she would use me for bait. So, one day, she sent me of all people to the front of Scar's cave, my petty knocks on the door meaning almost nothing to that maniac.

Finally, he came to the door. "Yes?" He asked rudely, peering about with shifty eyes.

"Down here," I said.

Our eyes met. He looked angry. He also looked exhausted, and incredibly displeased. "What are you doing here? Get out of my sight! I never want to see you again!"

Fear filled me. I ran from the scene, panting hard and never looking back. When I reached a pool of water, I skidded to a stop. I glanced at me appearance in the mirror of the water. Gee, that went well. I made myself think that perhaps Scar was unwell and therefore in a rather unpleasant mood. And it is now what I believe to this very day.

I returned to the expectant pride; greeting their apprehension with a frown, a raise of the eyebrows, and a shake of the head. Trotting toward my mother, I let her groom my creamy tan pelt.

"So, how did it go with Scar?" She wanted to know.

"Not so well," I answered. "He just told me to go away."

Mom didn't look discouraged, as she took a full swipe at my back, scattering hairs everywhere.

"Well, that's just how he is, honey," Mom sighed.

Anger was breaching my mind. "How can you say that? You act as though it's no big deal that our best friends are dead -- and that Scar and his stupid minions have taken over the Pridelands! I hate you! I hate you!"

I ran from the scene. But when I reached my normally hidden alcove near the foot of Pride Rock, another presence was already there. "Hello, Nala," He said.

It was him. The dreaded, dreadful, King Scar. "H - hello..." I stuttered.

Seeing his disgusting features, I screamed. But Scar groaned and covered his face with a paw. "Oh, Nala, don't yell. I'm already eating myself..."

I stared cock-eyed at him. Okay, so I knew he was odd. And I knew he was prone to pain. And I knew he was definitely unwell, but... "eating himself?"

I never knew adults could be so weird. When you're twelve, and you're always saying things like, "eating myself," people stare at you, or tell you it's lame and you shouldn't say it. Now, a true adult was saying it.

There is no end to the strangeness of Scar. He is unlike any other person, whether lion or termite, I've ever met. One moment, he adores me and treats me like the queen I would've one day been. Next, he decides to assassinate me. And then he spares my life. Why?

"Pardon me," I inquired, "What do you mean by 'eating yourself?' "

"Oh, excuse the inconvenience," King Scar gave a chuckle, while fumbling with his mane, and seemingly making the mess of it worse. "What I mean to say is -- I'm already quite displeased."

"Oh," Made my only answer.

"Listen Nala," Scar went on, in a more casual manner than I'd heard him speak in years. "It's been a while since I've been witn you. I mean I see you sometimes, but we're never together anymore. And I apologize if you're disappointed."

"No," I said, more quickly than I had meant to. "It's fine. You have a kingdom to look after, and I can fend for myself."

I didn't particularly want to complain that he wasn't spending enough time with me. Afterall, he did attempt to kill me.

"Oh, Nala, you'd make a fine queen." Scar's voice seemed farther away that two feet behind me. Like a trance.

"I'd be future queen if Simba wasn't dead," I said, drooping.

"Nala..." Scar seemed to be back now. "You can still be queen. Come with me, and you'll be the best queen ever. I'll send you to the moon -- and probably join you. We can be lovers, mates, King and Queen."

I fearfully twirled about. But there was no one behind me. Suddenly feeling very alone, I drooped. Perhaps I had been simply talking with myself. Like Scar talks with the opposite side of his personality.

As it always will, time did its horrible little dance, and the circle of life went on. I grew, as I always will. And by the time I reached age twenty-three, our once green and plentiful land was dry and bare. And hot. Oh my yes, hot. The ground was so covered with dust we were constantly picking up our paws and fanning them off with slivers of red, only to begin frantically spitting in disgust. And we were all sad. Never again after the peak of Scar's rule for many years did everyone give a smile. Except King Scar and his hyenas. I supposed Scar's minions enjoyed the dry, dark, sulky feeling. For they smirked and laughed commonly. Or maybe they were just drunk, because the day after every time I saw them on the whack with this behavior, they were either not around or sitting about moaning and groaning with a hangover.

We commoners were always very quiet. The main sound source came from the lair of King Scar, with his pleas for mercy and his moaning over his troubles, not to mention his threatening ideas, each more wacky than the previous. And occasionally, cackling. Even if sometimes it didn't seem laugh-like, almost miserable. Every time I heard this my heart suddenly filled with sorrow.

One day I was again sent to Scar's lair, to beg for mercy, for help. After being wished "good luck" from my peers, I timidly began my way to the top of Pride Rock. When I reached the once grand lair, I heard chilling things from within.

"... Mufasa? Mufasa!" It was Scar's voice. "How _dare _you -- I told you never to mention that name..." He trailed off.

His voice had been filled with hate. Pure hate, anxiety, madness. And no sorrow. What had happened to this... old friend of mine?

"Note taken," Zazu? Oh, my dear friend, Zazu! "I shall never mention... M-m-m again!"

"Even in death... his shadow looms over me!" Scar moaned and shrieked to emphasize his point. "There he is!"

Mufasa? There he is? Was Mufasa's ghost really in there? I wanted so much to look in, but more of me wanted to hear the rest of his plague.

"No -- there he is!" Scar's voice sounded fearful, rather than cluttered with glee. "And _there_!"

"Calm yourself, Sire, or you'll get another one of your _splitting _headaches!" Zazu butt in.

_"Ouch," _I thought, knowing this had been the wrong move for Zazu to take.

Sure enough, Scar's response was a resounding, "_I... am... per-fect-ly fine_!"

There was a large thumping sound, and then the whole world seemed to go crazy. There seemed to be loud, odd music trailing about Scar's lair. And then, he began to sing. "_I'M BETTER THAN MUFASA WAS! I'M REVERED -- I AM REVILED. I'M IDOLIZED -- I AM DESPISED! I'M KEEPING CALM -- I'M GOING _WILD!" He paused for a moment, then went on. "_I TELL MYSELF I'M FINE -- YES I AM, NO YOU'RE NOT, YES I AM, NO YOU'RE NOT -- I TELL MYSELF I'M FINE; NO YOU'RE NOT! YES I AM! NO YOU'RE NOT -- YES, NO, YES, NO -- _Who am I talking to!"

"Oh, pull yourself together, Sire!" It was Zazu -- he hadn't changed a bit.

"Oh... very well," Scar decided. "Zazu? Zazu, Zazu, Zazu...?"

"Yes, Sire?"

"Nobody loved me!" He groaned, "There's the rub -- not even as a cub!" Quickly switching tactics, he added, "What did... my brother... have that I don't have?"

Zazu was negative, with his jokes and wisecracks, as usual. "Do you want the short list or the long?"

And I giggled.

"Whatever!" Scar didn't seem to think it was quite so hilarious.

"Well, he had adoring subjects --"

"No."

"A loving family --"

"Naah!"

"A devoted queen --"

"That's it! I need a queen!"

No! Please, God, no! "A _what_?"

"A queen, man -- a queen! Without a queen, what am I? A dead end! No line, no descendants -- no future! With a queen I'll have..." He paused in weighty emphasis and appreciation. "Cubs... immortality will be mine! Immortality will be mine!"

Automatically, and to my own fear and disgust, I found myself trudging in; "Scar," I challenged.

Scar turned quick as a whip to face me. "Ah... Nala... you're timing couldn't be more perfect. My how... you've... grown!"

A courageous voice that was almost unlike my own began to well up inside me. "Scar, you have to do something. We're being forced to overhunt!"

A flirty pattern of seven beats began, and Scar began singing again, in a tune similar to before. "_SHE'S GOT THOSE ASSETS FEMININE_!" -I continued protesting- "_I HAVE TO MAKE HER MINE. NOBILITY IN EVERY GENE -- SHE HAS TO BE MY QUEEN!"_

Now he was dancing with me, and a smile creeped onto my face. I was dancing. With the worst man in the world, but to dance? I'd give anything! I'd never known how to dance, but it was overwhelming! When he began to dance with me, it all came, and I knew every step right off the bat.

"_COME, SWEET NALA -- IT'S WRITTEN IN THE STARS. WE'LL CREATE A HOST OF LITTLE SCARS_!"

And for a moment, I wanted to. Look how easy this was -- love, right in my own hands, embracing me, twirling me about into a dance. But that voice that wasn't me kept coming out of my mouth.

"_TELL ME I'M ADORED!" _No Scar, tell me I'm adored. In that moment, that short, tiny moment, I saw such passion in him, and almost didn't want to let go. Love. Love. Adoration. It's all I wanted. From him, from anybody. If I could just get it out of my mouth --

"_TELL ME I'M ADOR--"_

But that subconsiuous side of me took over. Before I knew I'd done it, I had sharply ran my claws over his right eye and nose, almost like revenge for his doing to me so many years ago. Scar groaned, lowering himself, nearly crumpling to the ground and clutching the right side of his face. "Oh... Nala..." The voice was the mad voice of the king, yes, but a sad voice. A voice of mourning and sorrow. A voice that longed for me, but my subconscious self told me so otherwise.

"You know how I loathe violence..." Releasing his paws to reveal a blood-stained face, he said, "One way or another, you will be mine!"

But, so different from my long, I said, "Never, Scar! Never!"

I left, still looking back with sorrow.

"_YOU BELONG TO ME_," I looked back, still, in longing for his warmth again. _"YOU ALL BELONG TO ME..." _And he let out a scream, then falling to the ground to mourn his loss.

I feel like I should have felt anger at these words, but I didn't. They made me feel his pain, his sorrow, his horrors. And so, wanting never to return to this dreadful, scary place, I fled. I fled my birth place. I fled my home. I fled my sorrow.

Laying there, about ready to give up, in the tall grass, I chewed on a chute of clover. Biting down -- hard -- was the only way I could keep myself away from my secret, locked-up emotions. And then, I felt it. Hunger...

I smelled a warthog. A fat one. Darting my head, I lay eyes upon him. Juicy, fat, red. And so, as he stalked his blue beetle, I stalked his flesh.

Giving out a roar, I flexed my muscles and ran, unleashing all the horror I'd felt over the last ten years. _"Oh, defenseless warthog, feel my pain as I create yours," _It was a blood-thirsty thought, a mad thought, as those of Scar.

But I didn't feast. For a blur of golden lion was immediately on me, suffocating and killing my anger of before. It filled me with glee -- the speed in which I flipped him to the ground, snarling and panting with hatred. But he said, "Nala? Is it really you?" And I dismounted.

Did he know me? "Who are you?"

"It's me -- Simba."

And the world turned abundant, with the tune of _CAN'T YOU FEEL MY SORROW NOW_. Only the words were not of sorrow and pain, but of love. My love. For Simba.


End file.
